Whatever fhocks, or gives the least offence
To virtue, delicacy, truth or fenfe,
(Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide)
Nor has, nor can have scripture on its fide.
None but an author knows an author's cares, Or fancy's fondness for the child she bears. Committed once into the public arms,
The baby seems to fmile with added charms.
Like fomething precious ventured far from fhore,
'Tis valued for the danger's fake the more.
He views it with complacency fupreme,
Solicits kind attention to his dream,
And daily more enamour'd of the cheat,
Kneels, and afks heav'n to blefs the dear deceit.
So one, whose story serves at least to show,
Men lov'd their own productions long ago,
Woo'd an unfeeling ftatue for his wife,
Nor refted till the gods had giv'n it life.
If some mere driv'ler fuck the fugar'd fib,
One that still needs his leading-string and bib,
And praise his genius, he is foon repaid
In praise applied to the fame part, his head.
For 'tis a rule that holds for ever true,
Grant me difcernment, and I grant it you.
Patient of contradiction as a child,
Affable, humble, diffident and mild,
Such was Sir Ifaac, and fuch Boyle and Locke,
Your blund'rer is as fturdy as a rock.
The creature is fo fure to kick and bite,
A muleteer's the man to fet him right.
First appetite enlifts him truth's fworn foe,
Then obftinate felf-will confirms him fo.
Tell him he wanders, that his error leads
To fatal ills, that though the path he treads
Be flow'ry, and he fee no cause of fear,
Death and the pains of hell attend him there;
In vain; the flave of arrogance and pride,
He has no hearing on the prudent fide.
His ftill refuted quirks he still repeats,
New rais'd objections with new quibbles meets,
'Till finking in the quickfand he defends,
He dies difputing, and the contest ends;
But not the mischiefs; they, ftill left behind,
Like thistle-feeds, are fown by ev'ry wind.
Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill,
Bend the ftraight rule to their own crooked will,
And with a clear and fhining lamp fupplied,
First put it out, then take it for a guide.
Halting on crutches of unequal fize,
One leg by truth fupported, one by lies,
They fidle to the goal with awkward pace,
Secure of nothing, but to lofe the race.
Faults in the life, breed errors in the brain,
And these, reciprocally, thofe again.
The mind and conduct mutually imprint
And ftamp their image in each other's mint:
Each, fire and dam, of an infernal race,
Begetting and conceiving all that's bafe.
None fends his arrow to the mark in view,
Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue.
For though e'er yet the shaft is on the wing,
Or when it first forsakes th' elastic string,
It err but little from th' intended line,
It falls at laft, far wide of his defign:
So he who feeks a mansion in the sky,
Muft watch his purpose with a ftedfast eye,
That prize belongs to none but the fincere,
The leaft obliquity is fatal here.
With caution tafte the fweet Circæan cup,
He that fips often, at last drinks it up.
Habits are foon affum'd, but when we strive
To ftrip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive.
Call'd to the temple of impure delight,
He that abftains, and he alone does right,
If a wish wander that way, call it home,
He cannot long be fafe, whose wishes roam.
But if you pass the threshold, you are caught,
Die then, if pow'r Almighty fave you not:
There hard'ning by degrees, till double steel'd,
Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd,
Then laugh at all you trembl'd at before,
And joining the free-thinkers brutal roar,
Swallow the two grand noftrums they difpenfe,
That fcripture lies, and blafphemy is fense:
If clemency revolted by abuse
Be damnable, then, damn'd without excuse.
Some dream that they can filence when they will
The storm of paffion, and fay, Peace, be ftill;
But "Thus far and no farther," when addrefs'd
To the wild wave, or wilder human breast,
Implies authority that never can,
That never ought to be the lot of man.
But mufe forbear, long flights forebode a fall,
Strike on the deep-ton'd chord the fum of all.
Hear the juft law, the judgment of the skies!
He that hates truth fhall be the dupe of lies.
And he that will be cheated to the last,
Delufions, ftrong as hell, fhall bind him faft.
But if the wand'rer his mistake discern,
Judge his own ways, and figh for a return,
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